


chant when you wash your hands

by cupcakentea



Series: The Unholy Trinity [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Graphic Description, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27267916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakentea/pseuds/cupcakentea
Summary: As he looks up, he notices that he can’t see the stars at all today. Just the moon, big, almost too round. Like an unblinking iris that knows everything he’s ever thought, ever did. Everything he’s ever desired.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: The Unholy Trinity [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991371
Comments: 15
Kudos: 20
Collections: 1D Trick Or Treat Fest 2020





	chant when you wash your hands

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Hello! It's been a while!  
> This fic was written as part of the 1D Trick or Treat Fest - all ficlets are 666 words long. Be sure to check out the rest of the collection!  
> Thank you to the wonderful [bananamission](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bananamission) for proofreading this baby.
> 
> **As always, I do not allow translations or reposts of my works to this or any other website.**

The moon is full and bright in the inky sky as Harry walks home.  
His boots clap on the pavement, the heat of the day still coming out of the asphalt in almost palpable waves. The day has been long and exhausting, the neverending shift at the ER draining him and infusing weariness into his bones. They feel brittle today, slightly too big for his skin that has been simmering with a nervous thrum from the moment he woke up.  
  
As he looks up, he notices that he can’t see the stars at all today. Just the moon, big, almost too round. Like an unblinking iris that knows everything he’s ever thought, ever did. Everything he’s ever desired.  
  
His skin breaks into goosebumps, tacky with old and fresh perspiration. He walks faster, eyes darting behind him to try and shake out the vulnerability he suddenly feels. For some reason, the idea of coming through the front of the house fills him with unease. Without thinking, he darts to follow the sidewall before coming into view of the door, hidden in the shadows of the neighbour’s tall hedges. Their leaves slide against his arms, overwhelmingly close.  
  
His feet trip up on the first step of the back porch, a small space that he loves fiercely. The perfect one to sip a glass of lemonade on evenings as warm as this one. Yet, the thought doesn’t even graze his mind. He opens the door with his key quietly, happy to know he remembered to lock it before leaving. It’s a small snick of a sound, no creak of the hinges he greased a few weeks before.  
  
He shuffles into the tiny area he likes to call a mudroom, taking off his shoes and his coat before heading in further inside, leaving them both near the entrance. There’re no lights on in the living room nor in the kitchen. Harry doesn’t really expect otherwise but he’s still somewhat surprised. The house is silent apart from the distant sound of the odd car passing by. It’s as if it’s holding its breath, filled with uncanny.  
  
Harry goes up to the counter, unloading the few items he’s grabbed on his way back to complete what he’s already prepared for dinner. A small bag of grated cheddar, some butter, a loaf of bread and four chocolate cookies that would surely be appreciated.  
He puts them in the fridge, its light submerging the room in ice blue, blinding. Reflecting in something behind him, two dots, unblinking.  
Eyes shut, he closes the door, welcoming darkness back. It’s the quiet sound of feet on the tile floor that makes him open his eyes.  
  
“No,” he says out loud, voice stern, trying really hard to be convincing. Or be convinced.  
When he turns, there’s already the point of a blade resting against his chest. Reflexively, he reaches out to grab the hand that’s holding it.  
  
“Really, again ?” Harry sighs out, the hint of a frown knitting his brows together.  
Louis doesn’t answer, just grins manically as he hums. His irises are blacked out, as big and round as the moon outside, the white of his eyes as stark in the darkness as his teeth. No blue in sight.  
  
Harry feels the knife breaking his skin, the burning depth of it slicing flesh as easily as butter. He winces as it grazes a lung, the painful sting making him hiss.  
  
“I’ll get you next time,” he wheezes out as blood fills his mouth slowly, steadily, an uncomfortable yet familiar sensation. It’s already everywhere, thick and heavy, and he feels himself smile slightly, spreading it on his gums.  
  
“I really loved that shirt,” he finally drawls, breath hiccuping before stopping entirely. Louis smiles softly at that, a bit regretful. His chest heaves loudly, shattering the almost comforting silence that has fallen in the house. After a while, he speaks.  
  
“I’ll get you a new one, darling.”  
At that, Harry’s already blueish lips move.  
  
“I’m holding you to that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please consider kudos, comments and/or [reblogging the tumblr post](https://cupcakentea.tumblr.com/post/633418214773309440/chant-when-you-wash-your-hands-666-by).
> 
> Title from this Welcome To Night Vale quote :  
> “You, of course, should always chant when you wash your hands.”


End file.
